


For Arthur

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Magic Revealed, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, One-sided Gwaine/Merlin - Freeform, Past Arthur/Gwen - Freeform, Pining, Poor Merlin, Protective Arthur, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, mistaken for dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Merlin figures out he is immortal, and he does not take it well. Arthur finds him just as he pours the poison down his throat.





	For Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elirwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elirwen/gifts).



> For Merlin Holidays Gift Exchange 2018
> 
> Dearest elirwen, I really hope that I can bring you a little piece of joy for this holiday. It has been a gratifying experience writing for you, despite some small bumps along the road, and my hope is that you will enjoy reading this as I did writing. Thanks so much to my talented beta [Pelydryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelydryn/pseuds/Pelydryn) for doing a quick and efficient job even under time pressure. Another thanks goes to the kind and patient mods!
> 
> To anyone else interested in reading this, I beg of you that you read the warnings before delving in. It's definitely not a light read, but it does come with lots of comfort. Cheers!

It was when the dorocha ripped through him, when ice gripped his heart and froze the blood in his veins, when the other world tried and failed to touch his soul, that Merlin knew.

Eons could've passed or only the blink of an eye, but he just lay there unmoving as he stared at the ceiling of the castle ruins, and he was not sure if it was the stifling cold or the dawning of his realisation that petrified him. At the back of his head he took note of multiple agitated faces, touching and manhandling him as if he were precious, as if they were trying to rub the life back into him. Hallucinations, he figured. There were none who would touch him so tenderly.

Though paralysed on the outside, a turbulent storm was raging inside Merlin’s head. How could he not have seen it before? This was not the first time he had escaped his reaping; there had been the mortaeus flower, Cornelius Sigan’s possession, the poison of the Serket sting. Over and over Merlin had met with death, and death had rejected him each time.

But it was clear to him now. Any further denial would just serve to mark him even more the fool that he knew he was.

Merlin could not die.

The thought repeated itself in his mind like a spinning wheel as he slipped out of consciousness.

*

Lancelot’s funeral was a quiet but dignified affair. Merlin handed Arthur the torch with a stony face, his chest tight and eyes stinging with unspilled tears. He did not allow for his gaze to stray from the fire, though, ignored the billowing smoke, the other onlookers, and watched numbly as the flames ate up the earthly possessions of the knight. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the smile on Lancelot's lips as he'd stepped into the nether. It had been because of him, he knew. Not Gwen, or even Arthur, as he'd heard them speculate, or anyone else in the world. Lancelot had sacrificed himself so Merlin wouldn't have to, unknowing that he could never reach beyond the veil anyway.

And Merlin had let him, had been too weak and too slow to stop him from his selfless act. He had let slip away the only remaining friend who knew the real him, who had accepted him for who he really was.

A large branch cracked in the bonfire, stirring up a gust of ash, and a hot wind whipped across Merlin's face. He coughed and raised his arm against the current, attempting with shaky fingers to wipe at his face. He must be looking quite pitiful, Merlin thought, covered in snot and tears and grime and crying over a red piece of cloth. It didn't matter. None would bother looking at him right now, anyway.

As soon as the procedure was over he was quick to excuse himself. Arthur granted him the evening off with a frown dividing his forehead; he probably thought Merlin was headed for the tavern; oh, well, the less he knew, the better. Before Merlin left, he took one last look at his prince, whose hands were entwined with that of Gwen’s, taking comfort in each other as they mourned their lost friend and love. Arthur did not have need of him right now, Merlin thought, and turned around, walking away from the intimate scene with heavy steps.

He took the hemlock from Gaius’ chambers, as he had on that fateful day so many years ago. A fitting punishment, he thought bitterly, a reminder of his greatest failure to date.

The bottle clutched close beneath the hem of his jacket, Merlin passed the walls of the citadel, the ornate houses of the inner ring, and the rundown streets of the lower town that led into the forest. There was a rush in his ears when he left behind the noise of the city, stepping into dark-green silence. He took a while to find a sufficient spot—a small, cold clearing, far enough from the castle and any traveller-frequented routes.

Merlin looked around for a bit, considering. Yes, this would do, he thought. He was utterly alone. With heavy steps he walked to the center of the clearing and knelt in the grass, pulling out the bottle and almost letting it fall by the tremor in his hands. He caught hold of it at the last second, and exhaled, willing himself calm before he flicked off the stopper.

A long pause followed as Merlin took time to listen in on his surroundings. All was silent. Not a bird could be heard humming in between the branches, nor a cricket, not even a slight breeze to rustle the leaves. It was as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Swallowing, he looked down at the brown glass that reflected so prettily in his fingers. His eyes fluttered closed, and he brought the bottle to his lips, tipping it until a small drop spilled onto his lips.

He poured the entire contents down his throat.

The suffocation that followed was not nearly painful enough to relieve him of the guilt that burned inside him.

*

Merlin did not return to the clearing for a long while.

At first, it was because there was no time, with either Camelot or Arthur what felt like always on the verge of collapse. He barely had a moment to breathe, much less to listen to the turbulence inside him, so he locked it away like Uther would have a magical artifact, safely in the vaults of his mind. He was becoming good at locking things away.

For a while, it worked, and he diverted crisis after crisis, from pending war with the kingdom of Caerleon, to mind-controlled knights (and if he resisted less than he should have to their treatment of him while they were under the spell, who was ever to know?), to the banishment of Gwen that left him shaken. Yet another friend lost to the machinations of Morgana, he thought as he waved her goodbye, feeling more powerless than ever. The lump in his throat made it impossible to spare her a single consoling word. But maybe that was for the better. Gwen had grown distant to him lately, probably suspecting that his affections for Arthur went deeper than those of even the most loyal servant should.

She need not have feared. Arthur would never return his feelings. He and Gwen were destined, just as Merlin was destined to walk behind him, a hand always shielding, but never to be held.

Sometimes he felt so alone that he thought he might suffocate.

The retaking of Camelot helped Merlin focus for a bit, gave him a new and intense drive when he hit the ground running. He knew he could not afford a moment of falter, nor a sliver of doubt as he did thing after unforgivable thing to ensure the king’s survival; killing Agravaine, calling upon the dragon to destroy the Southron army, putting a spell on Arthur to steal his will, just so he would follow Merlin into safety. If Arthur ever learned of Merlin's magic, if he ever connected the pieces, he would find only hatred for Merlin. (And rightfully so.) When it was finally over, both relief and dread warred to overcome him.

Things went on uneventfully for a while, all effort focused on rebuilding Camelot, with Gaius slowly recovering from his captivity, Gwaine trying to pretend he wasn't still shaken from _his_ captivity, Arthur avoiding Gwen. (He still loved her, Merlin could see it in the way his eyes grew wistful at times, the way he sighed and twirled his quill in between his fingers at his desk, when he thought Merlin wasn’t watching.) All the while, the thoughts inside Merlin's head grew louder and louder in volume.

He drowned them out by throwing himself into the work, attending Arthur, running errands for the steward, or assisting Gaius in restocking his supplies, which had not been left untouched by the Southrons. He collapsed into bed only when the moon stood high over the citadel and rose again with the first dawning sun.

That was, until Arthur put a damper in his plans one afternoon. Merlin had just finished drawing up a bath for him when he burst into the chambers, dirty and battered from training, shining as golden as ever in the rays that scattered inside from the far window. Merlin had to pause for a moment, taking in the sight of his promised king with reverence. Only when Arthur stepped directly in front of him, snapping his fingers, did Merlin realise he’d been talking. “Merlin! Are you even listening to me? I don’t pay you for standing around and staring holes in the air!”

Merlin blinked, disoriented. “I—um.” An excuse already on the tip of his tongue, he trailed off and turned his head away. He was tired of the excuses. There was nothing he could say that was worth saying. “Pardon me, Sire.” He reached for a towel that he had readied earlier, offering it to Arthur. “I have prepared a bath for you. Do you need me to help you out of your armour?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, and Merlin’s head snapped up. At the intensity of Arthur’s gaze his body froze, unable to move or even protest when the king moved forward, touching his chin and tilting it upwards with unusual gentleness. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin drew back in shock. Of all the times for Arthur to grow perceptive. “N-nothing’s wrong,” he protested. “I just—”

“You’ve been working a lot these days,” Arthur said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. I appreciate your dedication to help rebuild Camelot, but…” He paused, sighing. “Just take care of yourself, alright, idiot? I can’t have an indisposed servant. Take the rest of the day off.”

“But—”

“I’m not repeating myself.” Arthur shot him a look that made clear he wasn’t up for discussion. He tilted his head toward the door. “Off you go.”

Merlin swallowed heavily. “Al-alright. Sire.” On shaky legs he made towards the door, grasping the handle. He looked back at Arthur, half expecting, half hoping for him to change his mind.

“Now, Merlin!”

Shoulders hitched, Merlin hurried outside and closed the door behind his back, sinking down and burying his head inside his hands.

Why did Arthur have to choose now of all times to show concern? He deserved anything but. Merlin touched his face, realising there was wetness on his cheeks. With wobbly legs he pulled himself up and retreated to the physician's chambers.

He spent the rest of the day locked inside his room, waiting for his mentor to retire before he went to the poison cabinet again. He left it half open with the bottle of aconite in his hands. Stumbling blindly in his stupor, he somehow made it to his clearing in the forest, knelt down in the middle and held the bottle in front of himself with shaking hands, like many nights ago. This time, he did not hesitate.

When he woke up again, the moon still shone high in the sky, and the emptied bottle lay next to his outstretched hand.

Merlin screamed and screamed, until he grew so hoarse that only choked silence came from his throat anymore. It still did nothing to drown out the thoughts, louder than ever before, and for the first time Merlin felt raw, naked fear of himself. If he would look past them, look past the lies deep inside himself, was there even anything left for him to find?

*

Never in a million years would he let him hear about it, but Arthur was—lo and behold—worried about his servant. Merlin was sullen, had been for a while, really, his cheeks sunken in, the dark circles under his eyes etched deep, and his complexion, usually of a nice pale glow (if one liked snow-crisp ivory skin that shone like a fresh winter morning, that was, which Arthur _didn’t_ ), had grown pallid and sickly. And the most intolerable thing, he never smiled, never even reacted to Arthur’s teasing anymore.

At first he had brushed it off, had assumed there had been one too many visits to the tavern lately. But he had a feeling it was more than that. No. He knew it, by the way Merlin’s gaze was empty when their eyes met, where before alternately cheek, indignation, or, in rare instances, shining devotion had greeted him.

He’d thought that Merlin might be overworked. His servant had been a supportive presence during the invasion, loyal and always directly next to Arthur, even though he was but a defenceless peasant. Much as Arthur… tolerated (okay, appreciated) the constant attention, for once he felt that Merlin had really earned his rest, and had thus not had any qualms about sending him off on a well earned break yesterday.

Only the break didn’t seem to have done him any good; if he didn’t know better, Arthur would say his servant looked arguably worse today, speaking not a single word when he drew back the curtains and the morning sun crept across his ashen face. “What happened to you?” Arthur wanted to ask, horrified at Merlin’s skeletal appearance. But already his servant had turned his back to him and gone over to open the wardrobe to ready Arthur’s council attire.

“Breakfast’s on the table,” he mumbled, his voice so croaky that it was almost unintelligible. Maybe he really had been in the tavern, Arthur thought. It would explain why he looked like death standing, but… Arthur looked up, catching a quick glimpse of Merlin’s eye before the man in question looked away again.

No, Arthur concluded. It wasn’t a hangover that had Merlin appearing like this. The emptiness was still there.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he spoke up emphatically, walking over to the dresser and pulling on the shirt and breeches Merlin had laid out for him. He paused for a bit, giving Merlin an obvious opening to reply with his usual cheek. ‘That sounds dangerous, Sire. I hope you’ve been careful not to hurt yourself’, he would've said by now, a teasing little lilt in his voice that always caused strange flip-flops in his stomach.

As expected, no such answer came, and Arthur suppressed a sigh as he turned back around. “Know what, I’m actually not that hungry right now. You can eat what’s on the table, and have some more of that pie and honeyed water delivered to the council room.”

He didn't wait around for Merlin to answer, instead throwing his cape over his shoulder as he marched to the door of his chambers, ripping them open with more force than strictly necessary.

The door fell shut with a rattle as he stepped outside, and finally he allowed his shoulders to slump.

He didn’t know what he would do if he had to look into Merlin’s hollow face for much longer.

*

“Arthur. Sire, can I talk to you?” Guinevere caught when he exited the council chambers later that day. She was biting her lip, not quite meeting his eyes as she looked up at him through dark lashes.

Arthur blinked. He had not expected her, had had little time to think about her at all these last few days. Truth be told, apart from the rebuilding efforts, the worry about Merlin had been on the forefront of his mind, leaving little room for anything else. Guilt crawled up in his chest. He’d not meant to leave her in suspense like this, even if he was not looking forward to the conversation to come. There were a lot of unsaid things between them still, and she had earned his honesty. She had proven her loyalty in the battle for Camelot, after all.

“Very well,” he said, at last, motioning for her to follow him to an unoccupied side chamber. “In here.” Her shoulders sagged visibly in relief. “T-thank you.” After she had stepped inside, he closed the door behind her and settled his arms on the backrest of a chair.

Guinevere hovered awkwardly.

“I… you…” she began, but quickly trailed off again. “It’s…”

“We need to talk,” both of them said at once, and then looked up at each other.

She sent him a hesitant smile. “Um, how about you go first, Sire?”

“...Fine.” Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his wits for what he had to say. “It’s about us.” He met her gaze and found no surprise there.

When Guinevere stayed silent, he sighed and turned around to regard the courtyard from beyond the small, dirty window. ”For a long time after your banishment, I’ve considered my feelings for you. I thought I would be able to marry for an alliance, but—” He clenched his fists. “I couldn’t. Could not do it, for some reason. I thought it was because of you. I was confused, and… and betrayed.”

“Arthur,” she murmured softly. He did not need to turn back around to know the sadness in her face. “I doubted myself,” he continued. “I thought I should forgive you, rescind your banishment. When I saw you in Ealdor, I was relieved. I thought this weight would finally lift from my chest.”

“But instead you just feel empty,” Guinevere finished for him. “I thought the same, Sire. I had much time to think during my exile. Would you believe me if I told you that I never meant to hurt you? That I regretted it afterwards, every single day?”

Arthur frowned, considering the question. Had you asked him a few months ago if he thought she would ever betray him, he would’ve laughed at it, or maybe thrown whoever dared to ask in the stocks. But the pain in his heart was not something he could forget. “I believe you,” he said finally, turning back to regard her with a serious expression. “And after the events of the past month, I won’t call into question your loyalties for Camelot. However, I cannot make things undone.”

“I know,” she said, and her eyes were glistening suspiciously. “I would never ask of you that you forgive me, or that you continue our courtship after this. I think that, even with all of the pain it brought, it was maybe for the best that things went like this.”

“How do you mean?”

“I, well, I still cannot say whether my heart ever fully belonged to you. But I’ve come to think”—she smiled sadly—“maybe your heart never was mine, either.”

He drew back. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head at him, turning towards the door. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about this. You will understand it, in time. May I…?”

Arthur struggled to catch up for a moment. “Y-yes, you are dismissed,” he said, anger warring with confusion inside his head. How dare she cast doubt upon his loyalty, after all he’d gone through for them to be together? She had been the one who betrayed him, not the other way around! And what did she mean, his heart wasn’t ever hers? Who could he love more than he had Guinevere?

“Sire.” Arthur looked up to see her gone and found Merlin standing in the doorway instead. He looked so tired, Arthur thought, as if the weight of the entire world rested on his shoulders. In moments like these, Arthur felt the strange need to reach out, a thrumming beneath his fingers entirely unlike the pulsing excitement of a battle. What would happen, a small voice wondered, piping up from the back of his head, if he were to touch his shoulders? Would they be as frail as they looked, or deceptively strong? Would they yield under his touch? Would they—

“The knights have been asking for you." Merlin's voice tore through the train of thoughts, clear as water from a mountain spring. "You’ve got a training session scheduled.”

“Right.” Arthur pushed himself up, blinking heavily. He brought his hands to massage at his temples in an attempt to alleviate what he just realised was an oncoming headache. “Tell them I’ll join them on the training grounds shortly.”

*

Merlin was happy for Arthur, happy to know that he was finally seeing Gwen again. No, really, he thought insistently. He was. (Then why did his chest hurt so much?)

Vehemently, he tore his gaze from Arthur's retreating back. He had work to do, he decided, preferably far away from the training fields. Unfortunately the king had been light on his list of chores today, even with the afternoon off from the day before. Because he thought him useless now, the voices in his head piped up, not even good for the simplest task anymore. Merlin clenched his trembling fingers, trying to ignore the taunts. He hadn't checked in with Gaius yet, he remembered. Surely the old physician would have something to keep him busy. (At this point, he would gladly take on the leech tank, if he was honest.)

Bursting into the physician's chambers a few minutes later, he found his mentor standing in front of the poison cabinet, and the sight of it made him stop in his tracks. A jolt of fear went through his insides. "G-gaius?"

"Merlin, my boy," Gaius did not turn around, waving him closer. "I'm afraid someone was at my supplies. I found it standing open this morning." He pointed at the doors of the cabinet. "Most of it seems in order but I will still check if everything’s there. Did you hear anything last night?"

Merlin fought to suppress a relieved sigh. "No, sorry. I was, um, out of sorts." It was only half of a lie. For once.

At last, Gaius shifted his gaze, and Merlin quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression. He was met with a minimal lift of an eyebrow. "Yes, I had noticed. I'm sorry, I was out in the lower town dealing with an outbreak of chickenpox for most of yesterday. Do you want me to look at you now?"

"N-no!" said Merlin, maybe a bit too quickly, because the eyebrow was lifting higher and higher, and he could see the first inklings of concern in Gaius' eyes. "That won't be necessary," he tried to assure, "I feel much better today."

"Alright," Gaius conceded. "But if anything changes for the worse, tell me. Take it easy today, my boy."

"But—"

"Merlin."

Gaius sent him a look, one of the 'you're being obstinate, and you know it' variety. Merlin bit his lip, avoiding his gaze; it always made him feel like a chastised child, caught with his hand in the raisin jar.

"I promise I will be careful," he lied, putting on his best fake smile. It was getting easier and easier, almost a reflex at this point.

"Alright," said Gaius, turning back to his cabinet again, but Merlin was not fooling himself. His mentor was perceptive, probably more so than anyone else in the castle. He was aware something was up.

Merlin took a shuddering breath. Well, there was no helping it now. Taking a few steps backward, he made his way up to his room again, and only after he had closed the door did he finally allow for the not-smile to fall from his face. He shrunk in on himself on the floor next to his night stand, willing his lips to stop quaking, and pressed his fists tightly into his eyes.

Last night had been a mistake. He had allowed himself to slip, had let his thoughts rule him, and it had almost gotten him caught. Now Gaius knew someone had been at his substances, and he would have to be extra careful. Gaius too considered him useless, Merlin realised, had sent him away just like Arthur, under the guise of resting, but he knew the truth. He could not let anyone find out about the poison, his futile attempts. If they did, they would see the true extent of his weakness, would discard him once and for all like he deserved. Then he wouldn’t even be able to long from afar anymore.

A sharp pain shot through his chest at the thought, and suddenly hot tears ran freely past his knuckles, down his cheeks and neck. He shook silently, angry at himself. How dare he think of Arthur in his state? There was no use for a warlock if he could not protect his king, if he was unable to even protect himself. If any harm came to Arthur because of him, because he failed to act—

No. Merlin pulled away his hands. He would rather cast himself into the furthest abyss before he allowed for that to happen. Vision blurry, he looked around his room, locating the loose floorboard that hid his spellbook.

If he could not overcome the thoughts on his own, maybe it was time for magic to do so for him.

*

Merlin was different from before. Gone was the aimlessness that Arthur realised had haunted his eyes for too long, and he was no longer actively trying to work himself to death. Instead, Merlin was nowhere to be found after finishing his chores, and Arthur was not sure if he preferred it; not knowing where Merlin was was arguably worse than at least knowing him safe. He tried following him, asked Gaius, the other servants, every inhabitant of the castle that he came across. But none could give him an answer. It was as if Merlin had vanished into thin air. By now, he knew that he was not the only one who had noticed something.

Arthur overheard the knights talking about it in the armoury, once, after a session where he had worked them especially hard. His back had been turned, and he was sure they thought their king not listening as they broke out into quiet whispers. But he had heard. They too had tried and failed to draw Merlin out. Even Gwaine had been declined upon inviting him for a merry night out in the tavern, sent away with quiet, polite words. “I’m sorry, I’m too busy right now. Maybe some other day.”

(Arthur had clenched his fist at the idea that Merlin spend his free time with Gwaine of all people rather than-than him, but at the moment he would have been glad if Merlin spent his free time doing anything at all.)

Despite having intended to give her time, Arthur found himself gravitating to Guinevere for answers. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed to her. “He won’t talk to me, or Gaius, or anyone. It’s like he’s completely shutting down, like father during his last year. I want—do you know how I can help him?”

Guinevere paused in her task, put down the linens she had been folding before Arthur had accosted her in the laundry hall. From the corner of his eye he noticed several other maidservants whispering amongst each other, shooting them non-subtle glances. He shook his head. There was no time to worry about them and the rumor mill that would surely run fast after this interaction. With a raised eyebrow, he turned his attention back to the maid he came for. “Well?”

She bit her lip, and Arthur immediately felt guilty. He hadn’t wanted to sound so reproachful; it was not like she was at fault for any of this. “Oh, Arthur,” Guinevere said finally, sadness weightening her words. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask for help. I’ve not really been a good friend to him lately.” Her voice grew choked as she spoke, and she finally tore her gaze away, turning her back towards him and clutching her chest. Arthur allowed it, let her keep her dignity. “I’m sure that’s not true. You’re good at this whole… feelings thing. You’ve a caring heart.”

A bitter chuckle. “That doesn’t shield me from having dark thoughts once in a while, Sire. I’m not a holy woman. I can still feel—” she cut herself off, shoulder sagging. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t intend it to be like this.”

“Intend what?” Arthur frowned. Again she was speaking as if she knew more than him. “Guinevere, please, can you just—”

“I was jealous, alright?” she said suddenly, in a startling vehemence that Arthur thought was most unlike her. “I didn’t want it to be true for a long time, closed my eyes before what was obvious, subconsciously or not. But in my heart, I guess I always kind of knew. It was why I distanced myself from Merlin. I thought that if I… if I didn’t acknowledge him, if I just thought him away with my mind, he and everything about him would just not matter. I’m sorry.” She slapped her hands in front of her mouth, exhaling shakily. “That’s a bit more than I intended to say. Could you please leave me alone right now?”

Arthur nodded, heart thundering wildly in his chest. How could he not have been aware of this? He had always thought Merlin and Gwen to be extremely close, had been almost jealous at times of their bond. And speaking of, what in all hells did she mean by being jealous? And of Merlin? It was ridiculous—what did Merlin have that she could be jealous of?

She turned around, sending him a pleading gaze. “A-alright,” Arthur conceded. “I apologize for taking your time.” He walked out of the laundry hall again, with even more questions plaguing his mind than when he came.

*

“Did you hear it? The king visited Gwen in the laundry room this afternoon!”

“Yes, I heard from Gladys. Incredibly romantic how he changed for her. He never would’ve visited the servants’ halls under Uther.”

Merlin’s fingers shook as he walked past the two kitchen maids, carrying a stack of books in his arms, careful to hide their titles from unsuspecting eyes. Yet another day had passed without success in his research.

He had combed through what felt like every book in the castle, the ones in Gaius' shelves, the secret compartment in Geoffrey's library. Hours and days he had tested out spells, first in his room, and then, when people wouldn’t stop knocking on his door, in his clearing in the forest, with only the lingering air of his own failure as his witness. He'd found mind-reading hexes, mind-befuddling ones, even one particularly nasty curse to completely wipe the victim's conscience.

But there was nothing about locking away one's feelings. Nothing to control one's own thoughts. He wondered if it was even possible—no, he could not let himself think in that direction. He needed to find something. He depended on it. Magic had never abandoned him before.

“Gyaah!" one of the maids exclaimed suddenly, her squeal startling Merlin out of his brooding. He realised he had stopped walking to lean against the wall around the corner, listening in.

"I'm seriously so excited about this! You reckon they’ll get back on the wedding planning soon? We haven't had a grand ol' feast in weeks!”

"Oh, I'm sure of it! The king can be quite driven when he wants something."

"Gwen's so lucky..."

Yes, she really was, Merlin thought. Incredibly lucky. He scrunched up his face. Why was he idling here? It was none of his business. Before he could catch another snippet of the conversation, he turned around, hurrying towards the stairs.

"Whoa, there!" Merlin's foot caught against the first step in surprise, almost sending him falling face-first onto the floor. Two gloved hands caught him around the waist, steadying him. Merlin looked up into Gwaine's grinning face. "Going somewhere?"

"I, uh," Merlin said eloquently. "I'm just bringing these back." He held up his books pointedly, hoping the knight would not try and draw him into a chat.

"Hm, a man of literature?” Well, there went that hope. “I'd always pegged you as a smart one." Gwaine leaned in curiously, trying to pry at his hands to be able to see the cover. "What is it you're reading so avidly, anyway?"

"Just"—Merlin panicked and quickly stepped out of his reach—"boring stuff. Herbs and such, for Gaius."

"Ah." The knight shook his head fondly. "Ever the studious assistant. You're always so helpful to everyone, Merlin."

"I don't know..."

"You are." Gwaine slung an arm around his shoulder. "The princess working you hard? You deserve a break some time, you know."

Merlin suppressed a sigh. "Gwaine. I'm sorry, but I told you, I currently don't have the time to go to the tavern. Now if you could please let me..." He gingerly extracted himself out from beneath the touch, making a move to step past him.

Gwaine caught his wrist. "Wait. Please." Merlin paused. The cheerful knight's face had grown serious all of a sudden. "I hate to see your face like that," Gwaine murmured, fingers wandering up to trace across Merlin's cheeks. "You're much prettier when you smile." Merlin's eyes widened, willing his legs to move, but they were being uncooperative for some reason, as if frozen in place. He held his breath when Gwaine's thumb stroked his lips. "You don't have to waste your time pining. If you're in need of company, I—"

"I-I'm sorry." Regaining control of his feet, Merlin stepped back, almost tripping over again. "I really have to bring these back now, before Geoffrey will have my head. T-talk to you another time." He did not wait around for Gwaine to answer, and instead dashed past him up the stairs.

Merlin's throat burned while he marched towards the library, not paying attention whether he ran into someone. Bile was crawling up into his mouth. Now even Gwaine felt bad enough to make a charity pass at him. How was it that everyone but Arthur knew about Merlin’s infatuation? Had he accidentally announced it to the entire castle? He was so incredibly tired. Every time Gwen saw him, she teared up and walked the other way, as if she couldn’t even stand to look at him out of guilt. He didn’t begrudge her. Had he a mirror, he probably couldn’t stand looking at his own face.

If Merlin didn't find anything in the books by this evening, he thought to himself, he would have to turn to other sources for help. He couldn’t stand being the subject of people’s pity anymore.

*

Arthur turned the small leather pouch in his palm and let out a sigh, dropping it onto his desk. It tumbled over stacks of documents and wrinkled scrolls until it finally bumped into a paper weight.

It was a special kind of tracking item, used mostly for hunting. The pouch was filled with the finely ground sand of a rare gem called cat’s eye, which was almost invisible during the day but lit up at night when illuminated with a torch or lantern. There was a lid at the bottom that could be flicked off for the sand to escape, and a string at the top which Arthur had tied to a small iron hook. If he managed to pin it to the back of Merlin’s jacket, his servant would be none the wiser.

He was not sure why he was hesitating. Had it been a few years ago, before he met Merlin, he would have done it without missing a beat. He was the king and as such entitled to know everything about his subjects. Yet he could not help but consider what kind of face Merlin would make when Arthur confronted him with this, telling him he had followed his trail like a wild animal. Would it be an abuse of his power? Arthur could already picture those dark blue eyes boring into his soul in a rare show of disappointment.

He hated that look. Slamming a fist onto the table, he took the pouch again, shoving it into the pocket of his breeches. Maybe this had not been the best idea. Maybe he should rather—

In that moment, the door swung open, and Arthur jumped in his seat. “Merlin!”

His servant shuffled inside with hunched shoulders, shooting him a sideway glance as he walked along the wall towards the table. He put down the tray he had been holding and withdrew back into the shadows, making himself as small as possible. “Your dinner, Sire.”

Arthur suppressed a wince at the honorific. “Right.” He stood up, kicking back his chair. Not taking his eyes off Merlin, he walked past him towards the table and settled down in front of the plate with something akin to trepidation. He grasped the silverware in both hands, acutely aware of Merlin’s eyes on him.

“It’s going to grow cold, Sire.”

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line. Giving no reply, he cut into the beef that had been prepared for him and guided a chunk towards his mouth. A stifling silence overcast the room, filled with only the scratching of a knife on metal and the bumping of his cup onto the wood of the table whenever he set it down. He kept watch on his servant from the corner of his eyes. Merlin fidgeted under his gaze, uncomfortably rooted on his spot, gnawing his lip and worrying the hem of his jacket.

When Arthur was done, he leaned back, laying the cutlery onto the plate. He heard Merlin heave a sigh of relief, and then his servant was in front of him, making motions to remove the used dishes. “Not so fast,” said Arthur, grabbing his wrist.

Merlin jumped at the sudden contact. Pale-faced, he looked up, really looked at Arthur for what was probably the first time in days. “S-sire?”

“Sit down.” Releasing his wrist again, Arthur gestured towards the chair beside him. Merlin frowned dubiously, but complied and settled at the very edge of the seat as if it were made of spikes. His hands dug into the worn fabric of his breeches above his knees, and he eyed Arthur from beneath thick, dark lashes.

“Merlin,” Arthur began, and trailed off again, at a loss of words now that he was faced with him so directly. “You... surely you know that you’re my most trusted—I mean, I trust you… somewhat. Quite a lot, in fact. Possibly.”

Merlin blinked owlishly. “Uhm, I—”

“No, don’t say anything,” Arthur held up his hand. “Let me finish. I’m just, well, I’m just hoping that you trust me too, that is, you’ll come to me when something’s troubling you.”

A small nod, and Merlin’s lips fell apart as if he were about to say something. Arthur tracked the motion of it, strangely mesmerised by the curve of their bow. They looked soft in the dim candlelight… Hold on. He shook his head, clearing his throat and fixing his gaze between Merlin’s brows instead. His cheeks felt strangely warm. “B-because I’m your sovereign after all, which means that I’m responsible for your wellbeing.”

Merlin drew back, making a face as if he’d been struck. “Understood, Sire. If that’s all, I really have to go now and…” He stood up, grabbing the dishes from under Arthur’s nose. “I’ll have to bring these away, so unless you need me any more this evening…”

“Fine. You’re dismissed,” Arthur conceded, a bitter taste on his tongue. Had he gone wrong somewhere? Then, suddenly an idea formed in his head. “Wait!”

Merlin turned around once more, jaw lined tight with impatience. “Yes?”

Arthur walked over to him, one hand in his pocket, and made a motion to right something at the back of Merlin’s neckerchief while he hooked the tracking pouch into a loose stretch of string. Pulling off the lid, he stepped backwards again, folding his hands in front of his chest.

“Just a piece of dust,” he said, forcing a nonchalant grin onto his face.

A wary frown. “I’ll… be going, then. Sire.”

“Yes, do that.”

Merlin nodded and slowly made his way towards the door. With one last unsure glance in Arthur’s direction, he walked out, quietly letting the door fall closed behind.

Determination settled across Arthur’s face. If Merlin wouldn’t talk on his own, then he left him no other choice. Tonight, he would get answers. Tonight he would find out who or what it was that was hurting Merlin. And he would make them pay for it.

*

“ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd’hup’anankes_!” The familiar words tore from Merlin’s throat, echoing through the heavy swathes of fog that had laid themselves upon the clearing with only the treetops peeking out above. He took a nervous look around. Since he’d left the castle, he hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling of being followed. But that was impossible; no one but him knew of this place, and no one looked for a lone missing servant at night.

The sound of flapping wings made him look up, and he jumped out of the way just in time to make room for Kilgharrah’s massive paw. With a loud thump the dragon landed before him, whirling up thick billows of fog to reflect in the pallid moonlight, and then he bowed his head.

“Young warlock," Kilgharrah rumbled in greeting, his voice cutting through the haze, heavy like a torrent of boulders. "You have need of me?”

Merlin craned his neck. “I need your help to find a spell.”

“A spell?” Disbelief rang in the dragon's voice. It had been a long time since Merlin had last needed to ask for magical advice. “What kind of spell is it that you require?”

“It’s...” Suddenly Merlin felt more than foolish for calling him here. How was Kilgharrah going to react, learning that the supposedly greatest sorcerer was incapable of even helping himself? He wrung his hands in front of his chest, stuttering for words. “There is a certain thing that I want. Need," he corrected himself. "Very important. Ar—the king's safety could depend on it. But I can't find anything. I've looked everywhere, every book, every scroll. And I just... Please, you have to help me. I don't know where else to turn.”

A low, rumbling chuckle. Merlin felt the shame rising to his cheeks. “Slow down, troubled one," Kilgharrah admonished. "I can advise you, but I cannot read your mind. Tell me, what is this ‘thing’ you need?”

Merlin swallowed.

“For me to lock away my emotions.”

“ _What_?”

The appalled growl rang throughout the trees, repeating itself eerily in the silence of the forest.

A startled rustle somewhere in the undergrowth.

“Ignorant child! Why would you want such a foolish thing?”

Pain pulled at Merlin’s face. “I cannot go on with them,” he explained vaguely, hoping that Kilgharrah would understand. ‘I cannot continue hurting’ was left unsaid.

The dragon remained silent, looking over Merlin’s shoulder into the thicket. Merlin followed his gaze. An owl emerged from between the treetops and swooped across the clearing, landing on a branch on the other side with a gentle hoot.

“You have not told your king about your magic,” said the dragon.

Merlin whirled around. “And I won’t ever!” he cried, and then took a breath before he added more quietly, “Arthur will kill me if he knows.”

Kilgharrah snorted. “Do you truly believe that?”

“...No.” Merlin looked down at his feet. “But he will hate me for my betrayal. And I don't know if I can live with that.”

“Nevertheless, what you wish for is not possible,” explained the dragon. “I have told you what you need to do. Whether you choose to listen or not will be what determines if you succeed in your journey.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“I cannot.”

Merlin clenched his fists, eyes fixed on the ground. “Then Arthur and all of Camelot are heading for ruin.”

“That may be so. But it is you, young warlock, not I, who will be responsible for it.”

Apparently considering the conversation over, Kilgharrah spread out his wings, and in large, powerful strokes he flapped them against the ground. The motion created a current of curls within the fog, whipping up more and more of it from the ground, pushing it back into the trees to reveal the naked clearing. A sharp wind bit into Merlin's eyes, and he raised his arm.

"You must have faith in your destiny. I will aid you in your time of need. Until then." With those words of farewell, the dragon rose above the treetops and took off into the clear night air.

Merlin didn’t bother calling after him. If not even Kilgharrah knew, there was no helping him.

He wondered if this was his punishment for having failed his destiny so many times.

Merlin turned around with shoulders slumped in defeat. He could still hear the owl hooting somewhere in the distance. When he took a step forward, there was a sudden rustle in the bushes again, followed by a loud crack and what sounded like a muffled curse. Merlin froze in his tracks. So he had been right after all. There had been someone following him.

Trailing his head up hesitantly, he looked for the shadowed figure that was staring at him from the bushes.

He was met with stricken, familiar-blue eyes.

*

For a few moments, they just looked at each other.

Then Merlin opened his mouth, maybe to say something in his defense, or maybe to ask Arthur what he was doing, following him, maybe even to utter a spell and attack him now that he had found his secret. There was no way around it; Arthur had heard him clearly when he had admitted to magic, admitted that he was plotting ruin against him and Camelot. When he had followed the trail out here to find Merlin with the dragon, he'd almost stormed right between them, ready to defend his servant from the beast. Oh, how mistaken he had been.

No noise came from Merlin for several moments, and Arthur managed to shake himself from his stupor. He would not stand there and wait to see which of the options would play out. Drawing his sword, he pointed it straight at Merlin, willing his hand to stay calm when his insides were trembling with rage. “Stay… stay where you are.”

Something in Merlin's face crumbled, and he fell where he stood. He did not catch himself as he landed on his knees in front of Arthur.

“You heard everything?”

"I did," said Arthur. He pressed his lips together, to try and bring his aching face under control.

Merlin sunk his head and stretched out his hands.

Without thinking, Arthur fell into a defensive position. His heart was thumping wildly against his ribcage, and the blood rushed in his ears. He would go down fighting, if nothing else.

But no attack came. Instead, there were only more words. “Then you may as well arrest me now.”

They rung surreal inside Arthur's mind, joining the continuous murmur of 'traitor, liar, I trusted you, you were my only friend,' rising in volume, banging against his forehead from inside so that he felt like the ground was swaying for a moment. He caught himself, knees suddenly weary to support his weight.

Then he did something he would later deny, out of pride but also shame at his own failure, yet it was the only coherent idea remaining:

He turned around and ran back to Camelot.

*

Arthur punished Merlin with silence.

At first, he was surprised when his servant even showed up for work the next morning, having expected him to high-tail out of there now that he’d been discovered. But there he was, timid and with black circles beneath his eyes as he served Arthur’s breakfast. Arthur watched in bewilderment. Did Merlin really expect for him to pretend nothing had happened?

After a few minutes of startling mundanity, the wariness had set in. Merlin could still be plotting something. Who knew, maybe he was only acting nonchalant, lulling him into a false sense of security. Arthur wouldn't be able to tell, that was for sure, as he had no idea what about the Merlin he'd gotten to know was even real. He should be calling the guards, put the sorcerer in irons before he had the chance to cause harm. For some strange reason, though, he found himself unable to make the order. Merlin could never betray him, a voice at the back of his head piped up. Merlin was good and true of heart. Arthur just sighed and pushed the thought away, wishing that he could believe it.

So he kept quiet about his discovery and let Merlin go about his business, albeit with a watchful gaze. He did not permit Merlin to touch him, sent him away when it came to dressing or undressing him or any other task that required skin contact. He was not sure why he was doing it, being that Merlin did not need to touch him to cast a spell, anyway. Still, “I can do it myself,” he would reply neutrally, give a dismissive wave of his hand and pretend that he didn’t see the shards of hurt in Merlin’s eyes.

Traitors did not deserve any pity, and they especially didn’t deserve sympathy for their feelings being hurt, from the king they had betrayed no less.

(Then why was he unable to banish the image of Merlin's crestfallen face from his mind? Why was he having the urge to pull him into his arms, cradle at the slender nape of his neck, hold him until the sadness had cleared away and cheeky dimples were playing on his face again? As always, Arthur only wished he had an answer.)

People caught on that something had happened a lot faster than he would have liked. "Much work, Merlin?" he overheard Gwaine asking one afternoon on the training field. He turned around, checking where the voice was coming from, only to have the knight walk right past him towards the servant, who had been tailing Arthur from a moderate distance. Gwaine extended his arms, taking some of the armour out of Merlin's hands. "That looks quite heavy! Here, let me help you with that."

"N-no, it's alright—"

"Nonsense. I don't mind helping you." Gwaine shook his head with an easy smile, batting away Merlin's attempts to get the armour back.

Something flared in Arthur's stomach at the sight. Gwaine had always been overly hands-on with his servant, but recently it caused an ugly feeling to well up in his mouth. What was he thinking anyway, touching what wasn’t his like it was his right—

Arthur scowled and clenched his gloved fists. Ignore it, he thought, turning his back pointedly. It didn't matter who Merlin familiarised with. He was a traitor and a sorcerer, so it was not like Arthur cared if he was reaping sympathy from his knights. Or batting his pretty eyelashes at them. Or letting them rub all over him. The little tart.

"I mean," Gwaine continued, rousing Arthur from his thoughts, "with the princess having his knickers in a bunch lately, the rest of us have to be all the more chivalrous. Seriously, what's he thinking, letting his poor servant—"

Arthur spun around. "Merlin!" he barked. "What are you doing, idling here like that? You're distracting my knights!"

"H-huh? I didn’t..." Merlin opened his mouth, looking terribly lost and confused at the piercing look Arthur fixed him with. Probably about to spew more pitiful excuses, but Arthur didn't wait long enough for him to remember how to speak words again.

"Shut up!” he snarled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. If you have the time to garner sympathy, you have time for more work. By this evening I expect every piece of armour I own polished, and properly—I want it to be clean enough that I can eat from it. So do me a favour and get out of my sight, and finally stop being useless for once!"

Merlin made a face as if Arthur had struck him. Eyes growing dull, he sunk his head. "Yes, Sire."

He shuffled off with hanging shoulders, and Arthur was almost starting to feel guilty again, that was, until Gwaine stepped in his path with a narrowed glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Arthur bristled at the accusatory tone. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, _Sir Gwaine_ ,” he replied coolly, “and you’d better watch the tone you’re taking with your king.”

“Some king you are,” Gwaine spat. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but if you continue treating him like this… if I—If I see that face on him only a single day longer, I will—”

Anger boiled inside Arthur. Gwaine was taking Merlin’s side, was blaming _him_ for Merlin’s unhappiness? Then again, the knight had never made a secret that he was primarily for his servant. And it had never bothered him before. “You would dare threaten me? Call in question my judgement?” When Gwaine opened his mouth, surely to make another mutinous remark, Arthur held up his hand. “Be very careful of your next words. You have not the slightest idea what you’re dealing with.”

“I know enough,” Gwaine growled.

Arthur curled his lips and raised his head at the knight, looking down at him as if he were a mere ant beneath his boot. “I suggest you mind your own business,” he said, the tone of his voice betraying that it was not at all a suggestion. “Or you might find very soon that you won’t have any more business to mind.”

Percival stepped between them before Gwaine could reply again, laying a hand on his comrade’s shoulder and shaking his head. The knight exhaled and stepped back reluctantly, but not before shooting another glare.

Arthur made sure to beat it out of him during the following training session.

He would’ve liked for that to be the end of it, but unfortunately, Gwaine was not the only one to try and speak to him on Merlin’s behalf. (Even if he was probably the least diplomatic about it.) Next in line was Guinevere, which surprised Arthur, seeing as he’d assumed she was avoiding Merlin, and she’d made it clear that she preferred to keep distance from himself as well.

“Sire, please, he’s miserable,” she implored, falling into step with him as he made his way back towards his chambers, “I mean, he was bad before, but now he’s just—”

“He said something to you?” Arthur asked, feeling slightly betrayed that even she would take Merlin’s side. Guinevere shook her head. “No, of course not. You know him, he complains about mundane things, but when it comes to things that actually weigh on him, he’s a book of seven seals. He would never let anyone know if he’s hurting, he’s just too selfless for that…” She trailed off, her eyes starting to shine suspiciously again.

“I know,” Arthur said, biting his lip. “It’s complicated.” Doubt gnawed at his heart. She spoke the truth; Merlin was an entirely selfless being. But then why would he choose to learn sorcery? Why plan Camelot’s ruin? Could it be he was enchanted?

“He could’ve told me about his problems,” Arthur said bitterly, not sure if to Guinevere or himself. “I-I would have listened, had he come before.”

He paused for a moment, realising he was speaking the truth. If Merlin had confessed to him, he would have given him a chance to explain; his trust in Merlin had been that strong. “But he doesn’t trust _me_ ,” he went on, aloud. “Even if I wanted to, I could not do anything. He’s only got himself to blame.”

“I think you can do a lot more than you realise,” Guinevere said, almost absently. When Arthur looked at her in surprise, her eyes went wide, and she quickly averted them. “I-I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

Arthur winced and raised his hand, only to let it sink down again. He hated seeing her cry.

“I just think,” she murmured, wiping at her face. “I think that whatever he has done, he’s only done it with you in mind. He knows only you, no one else. So, please, Sire, try to find it in your heart to forgive him. Because you’re probably the only one who can.”

Arthur didn’t answer her for a while. His heart was racing wildly for some reason, his hands clammy and his breath coming ragged. Merlin had been loyal to him for years, had always stayed by his side, risked his life multiple times to save that of Arthur. But Merlin was also a sorcerer, there was no denying it, and had deceived him for who knew how long.

“I-I need to think,” he excused himself at last, leaving a concerned looking Guinevere behind to stalk off to his chambers.

He needed some time alone to contemplate all of this, in peace and quiet. He just hoped Merlin wouldn’t be back from his chores early because Arthur had no idea what he could say to him now.

Merlin did not return from his chores early, as it should turn out, nor did he return at all that evening. Arthur paced in his chambers, having waited for hours for his servant to at least show his face. Long after his usual dinner time, there was finally a knock at his door, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

He strode over to open it only to be met with Gaius instead, who raised his eyebrow when Arthur drew back in surprise. “Gaius. At this late hour?”

“I’m afraid things don’t allow for postponement, Sire,” Gaius said.

Arthur groaned inwardly. “Listen, if you’re here to talk about Merlin, I’ve already—”

“I’m not,” interrupted Gaius, and then his eyes widened as he remembered his place. “I’m not here to talk about Merlin, Sire,” he repeated apologetically. “Although he is dear like a son to me and his current state worries me greatly, I believe it is not my place to interfere with…” he trailed off, and something lit up in Arthur’s mind, understanding that Gaius had to be in the know about the magic.

“Then what is it you are here for?” he repeated tersely, wondering if every single person in his kingdom was keeping secrets bordering on treason from him. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“There have been supplies going missing from my poison cabinet lately. I’d been on alert since I found the door standing open one morning, but not much had been taken. However, this evening I noticed a large quantity of Warlock’s Tears missing. It is an extremely dangerous substance. A small flask could wipe out an entire village, and the death caused by it is one of the most excruciatingly painful—” Gaius winced, at a rare loss for words. At last, he looked up at Arthur with his brows set determinedly. ”I-it’s better we find the intruder who took the poison, Sire, and quickly.”

Arthur swallowed, pushing the doubt from his heart and letting the bearings of a king take its place. There was no time for self-pity when Camelot needed him. He stepped out of his chambers, calling for a nearby guard. “Alert the captain immediately. We have an intruder. He’s not to sound the alarm—instead, have the knights spread out into the town and warn the citizens. No one is to eat anything they haven’t prepared with their very own hands, and no one is to drink from any of the wells. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sire.” The guard saluted him and marched off to enact the order’s he had been given.

Arthur exhaled and turned back around towards Gaius. “You will come with me.” Gaius nodded, falling into step with him as they walked back towards the physician’s quarters. “Tell me,” Arthur said. “Is it possible to make an antidote for this poison…”

*

Merlin was shattered, burning, he was being pulled into a ruthless current with no lifeline, he was pushed under, drifting into the dark depths, gasping for air, trying to scream for help but with only the silence of the water answering him. He was alone on a field during a raging storm, thunder and lightning cracking all around him while he desperately scrambled for shelter, finding only dirt and grass in his hands.

Arthur, was the only word that repeated in his mind, over and over, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Please, don’t hate me, I need you. You are my sun. I only exist for you, live for you, breathe for you. Can’t you see? Merlin opened his mouth, wanting to speak but no words came out.

He woke with a start, chest rattling in unsettling colors in his wild attempt to gasp for air.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around blearily. He was still in the armoury, he realised, apparently having fallen asleep mid-polish on one of the wooden benches. The cloth he had been using to clean Arthur’s armour had a head-shaped imprint and a spot of drool to show for it, and through the narrow window shone the late sun of dusk, signifying his tardiness.

Merlin suppressed a sigh. It was not the first time this had happened during the past few days, after Arthur… he shook his head. He could not allow himself to think about it. The thought alone made him want to lay down and never wake up again.

Arthur was probably happy, Merlin figured, now that his servant was trying to be more efficient, and less cheeky. He’d always wished for a more adequate servant; it was only well that he’d sent him away earlier. Why he was even bothering to keep him, Merlin wasn’t sure. In fact, why was he not already for the dungeons, burning on the next pyre? Nothing and no one, not even the king’s own noble heart, could judge Arthur for doing away with Merlin now.

Because Merlin was a traitor. He had lied to Arthur and had hurt him terribly—he knew from the way Arthur had looked at him that night, so incredibly lost, and sad, and disappointed. Arthur had said once that Merlin was the only remaining person who he could trust, and still Merlin had caused him pain.

He would never be able to forgive himself for it.

Rubbing his aching cheeks, he realised he was crying again. He snorted in contempt; he seemed to be crying all the time, nowadays. Pathetic sight he must be. He had failed on all fronts, had failed to be strong, had failed to be good and true. He had failed all his friends who died for him, when he should have died in their stead.

A frustrated sob slipped from his lips, without his control. Merlin slapped his hands in front of his mouth. This wasn’t working. He needed…

He needed rest. Only a little bit, and maybe the numbness would settle in again. No, a small part of him protested. Don’t, it will make the voices stronger. Merlin ignored it. He needed this. Just one more time he would allow himself. He needed to stop feeling, if only for a few precious minutes.

Grim determination settling on his face, Merlin stood up, letting the polishing cloth fall on the floor. He knew one more poison he had not tried yet, at the very back of the cabinet. It was black as ink, and Gaius had never mentioned to him what it did.

Merlin didn’t need to know that, though. He had nothing to lose.

*

Although the alarm bells had not been rung, the castle was thrumming with anxiety. Arthur had escorted Gaius to the physician’s chambers with instructions to make an antidote for the poison, even as the old healer had tried to placate him, saying that it would take time to brew. “Have it ready as fast as you can,” Arthur had said, his face settled in stone, and marched off to locate Leon and the other round-table knights.

True to form, they were already assembled, waiting for him in the armoury. “Sire! We are ready to head out and warn the townsfolk,” said Leon. Arthur nodded. “Good. We cannot lose any more time.”

He marched forward to locate his sword and spotted a pile of his own armour on a bench in the far corner. A rag lay next to it on the ground. He walked over to the pile, frowning. The hauberk still had some mud streaks on it.

Someone had been polishing his armour and been disturbed in the middle. His head snapped up. “Has anyone seen Merlin?” he tried to ask in a casual tone.

Gwaine shot him a glare. “Not since you dismissed him earlier this afternoon. Sire.”

Arthur ignored him to grab the polishing rag and held it to his nose. No, it did not smell like a sleep-inducing agent, but a kidnapping could not be ruled out yet, especially with an intruder going around. “You go ahead and proceed as planned. I will locate Merlin.”

The knights nodded. No one questioned why it was important to locate a single servant during a lockdown.

“Wait,” said Elyan suddenly, when Arthur was already half out of the door. Arthur turned back around, and his frown must have been piercing, because when his gaze fell on the knight, he blanched and swallowed heavily. “I apologise, Sire. I just thought… earlier, when I wanted to sort through some of my stuff, I remember him passing by me. Seemed a bit out of sorts, but what else is new? I believe he was heading to town.”

“The town?” Gwaine repeated. “What would he want there? Surely you’re not saying he went to the tavern in his state!” “I’m just saying what I saw,” said Elyan, holding up his hands in defence. He shot Arthur a hesitant look.

No, thought Arthur, shaking his head. Merlin would not have gone to the town, or even the tavern. Knowing what he did now, Arthur doubted if he ever had. “Thank you,” he told Elyan, patting his shoulder in passing. He fell into a hurried pace, through the corridor and out of the main entrance to the citadel, thrumming down the stairs and towards the stables. “Saddle a horse for me, quick,” he barked at the first stable boy he could find.

In what had to be record speed, he was presented with his trusty hunting mare, Llamrei. Arthur only nodded and swung himself onto her back. Pressing his heels into her flanks, he rode out of the citadel, past the town and straight into the forest.

He had a feeling he knew exactly where to find Merlin.

*

Merlin lay in the soft grass in the midst of his clearing, looking at the unfolding Milky Way above. He could not remember when he had last felt so at peace.

Taking a deep breath, he let the cold, fresh air fill his lungs. What he wouldn’t give to become one with the forest, have moss cover his face, have his thoughts dance light like wind through the branches. He dug his fingers into the earth, imagining they were roots and he a mere sapling trying to take hold in the ground. Tentatively, he sent out a bit of magic, an infinitely small question.

A sudden rush of warmth was his response.

From Merlin’s lips escaped a small gasp. He threw his head back, immobile as the warmth embraced him, caressed him like a kiss onto the forehead from his mother, a supportive pat from Gaius, a hug from Gwen, a soft glance from Lancelot. In some places, it also pinched him friendly, like Gwaine when he was in one of his flirty moods, or the knights when they pulled a prank on him, laughing and ruffling his hair and inviting him for a drink in the tavern. He sighed softly, relishing in the feeling of being held that he had so long yearned for, and then he sent out more magic to receive even more of the irresistible energy, magic so raw and pure as it could only come from the very core of the earth.

The warmth reached his heart, and suddenly it became so fierce that he tensed anxiously. It twisted around him, covered him, held him tightly and securely until his eyes fell close and his limbs slackened to jelly. Home. It felt like receiving a single, sun-golden smile from Arthur, a smile meant only for Merlin, a smile that would imprint itself on the back of his mind so that he could hold it there forever after, even when the real one had long faded.

Merlin let himself drift deeper and deeper into the embrace. He could lose himself like this, he mused, just stay afloat forever. Maybe with time he would even be able to forget himself.

“Merlin!” A distant call.

His eyes flew open, mind and magic reeling in again, snapping back into his body so suddenly that his view whitened out for a moment. With shaking hands, he pushed himself up. He was alone, still in the clearing. But who had called his name? A figment of his imagination?

Merlin’s gaze fell onto the small flask that he hadn’t noticed rolling into the grass, remembering what he had come for.

He exhaled slowly.

That had been too close. He had almost lost himself in the magic, had his mind seek out a far away place that he knew would have no way back. Merlin did not deserve the relief; did not deserve to be lost forever. He tightened his fingers around the poison flask. Popping off the lid, he brought it to his lips.

He swallowed it all down in a single gulp, and the pain settled in like a storm of hot knives, blood boiling from within, and clamped with iron fingers around his ribcage.

That was when Arthur burst into the clearing.

*

“Merlin!”

Arthur ran the last few yards towards his manservant, legs thundering over the grass so fast that it almost felt like he was flying. He ripped the bottle from Merlin’s lips, from his hands, and chucked it far away to the other end of the bushes. It was too late, he knew. The damage had already been done.

Merlin’s eyes shimmered at him for a moment, as if he wasn’t believing Arthur was really here. He opened his lips and made a small, confused noise.

“Shh. I’m here.” Something twinged inside Arthur’s chest and he knelt next to him, raising his head gently with both hands. Merlin murmured a few weak protests, moved his arms to try to shove him away, futilely. Arthur did not let go of him.

After a few feeble attempts, Merlin stilled in his arms and looked up at him.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he convulsed.

“Shit,” Arthur cursed under his breath, pressing on Merlin’s shoulders to try and keep him from thrashing. Late, he scolded himself. Already Merlin was slipping from him. “Can you open your mouth? Open it, quick!”

He didn’t receive an answer as Merlin spasmed, tremors of pain dancing through his limbs and his face scrunched up in discomfort. His breath came short, chest heaving in such small, fragile motions that Arthur was almost afraid to touch. He fought down the panic welling up in his throat. “This might get a bit uncomfortable,” he murmured, almost apologetic but not really. Without further qualms he grabbed the underside of Merlin’s jaw, pulled it down, and shoved a finger in Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin gave a muffled cry while he contorted in his grasp, the gag reflex making his eyes water. But Arthur held him securely. Deeper, he thought, and pushed his finger further down Merlin’s throat. Merlin might hate him after this, but it did not matter. He could not let him die.

Finally, bile pushed its way up into Merlin’s mouth, and Arthur let up from his grip, supported his back as he hunched forward and threw up clear liquid and blood.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”

Merlin was still trembling, knuckles whitening as they dug into the wool of his breeches. “W-wn…” He rasped, until his arms suddenly gave out and he keeled over.

Arthur caught his fall without thinking. “What were you saying?” he asked in concern and steadied Merlin around the waist. A detached part in his mind took note of how right it felt, to hold Merlin like this.

Merlin looked up at him, face drawn into a tight grimace. “Won’t h-help anything.”

A jolt inside Arthur’s heart. “What do you mean—” He didn’t get the chance finish his sentence before Merlin’s eyes went white once more, and his mouth fell open to release a bone-shattering scream.

“No!” Arthur cried, and scrambled desperately as Merlin’s spasms took up again, flailing so wildly that he almost hit Arthur in the face. Tears and snot and bile running down his cheeks as he shook, and the screaming lost itself in soft whimpers. Arthur’s hands itched, trying his best to still him. He could not remember having felt so helpless before. “B-but, the poison,” he murmured. “You threw it up.”

Too late, his mind admonished again. He’d been too late. If only he had ridden faster, if he hadn’t sent Merlin away, if he’d noticed earlier how much he was suffering. If he’d just _seen._ If, if, if…

Merlin’s only answer was a gurgle as the wave of convulsions let up for a bit. He coughed weakly, bringing up more blood.

Arthur clenched his jaw. “We are going to bring you back to Camelot. To Gaius,” he said, unsure if he was reassuring Merlin or himself. He holstered his thin, feverish form into a sitting position. When he made motions to move his arm under his knees, Merlin started struggling again, shaking his head frantically.

“Not… not Camelot. Please not Camelot.”

Arthur caught his wrists, ignoring how the fear in Merlin’s eyes made his stomach clench. “I’m sorry, but we have to,” he said. “I won’t let you die, not like this. Not ever.”

But Merlin only continued to shake his head, continued his string of broken mutters, unseeing and not understanding. “No... no... don’t tell Arthur. Don’t let him see. Please. He’ll be…” A cough wracked his chest, and he became unsettlingly quiet for a few moments.

When Merlin opened his eyes again, they were infinite pools of sadness. “He’ll be disappointed in me.”

The twinge in Arthur’s chest grew so painful that he almost forgot to breathe. He bit his lip and strained against the pressure inside his eyes. The sadness was for him, he understood. He had cast Merlin out, had mistrusted him and doubted him, when every thought in Merlin’s head was selfless. Merlin had drunk poison for him once, to save his life, and now he had done so again. Always only for him.

Arthur swallowed, and then he felt wetness rolling down his cheek. Letting his hand wander up from Merlin’s wrist, he entwined their fingers.

“He won’t be,” he whispered. “I-I promise I won’t tell him.”

The tiniest, most impossible smile danced on Merlin’s lips. “Thank you.”

It sounded so much like goodbye that at first Arthur didn’t even register Merlin’s limbs slackening, his mouth frothing as the tremors quietened through his body. At last, his hand went limp in Arthur’s grasp, and his eyes became dull and lifeless.

Arthur’s scream was bloodcurdling in his rage, rage at himself and all of the world, unwilling to have it be true. “Damn it, Merlin,” he broke down over the pale, lifeless form, and slapped his cheek several times, futilely. “You are not allowed to leave me, you understand? _Understand_?” he repeated more loudly. ”That’s an order from your king!”

After a few moments of quiet, he bowed his head so that his forehead touched Merlin’s. “Please. Stay with me.”

But Merlin did not respond.

*

Arthur’s trek to Camelot was spent in silence. Grim-faced, like the warrior his father had wanted him to be, he rode up the main road towards the gates of the citadel, and betrayed his facade only by the protective way his arm was cradling Merlin’s lifeless form. He was aware of people’s eyes on him. They stared at their returning king almost in reverence, as if they were aware this was a funeral procession.

“Merlin!” someone called when he passed through the gates, and at first he didn’t even recognize the voice through the white noise in his ears. He ignored it and rode on, until Guinevere ran up to him, her face stricken.

“Oh, Sire,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell me he’s—”

Arthur only looked at her briefly before his gaze swept forward again. More and more people gathered in the courtyard, some of them knights, some servants, and he could even make out one or two noblewomen in the fray. They all had come for Merlin. 

Suddenly, there were the stablehands, and a set of arms came up to lift the body from the horse.

“No!” Arthur barked, sending out glares as he clutched Merlin’s still form to his chest. He slipped from the back of his horse without letting go of him, and handed Llamrei’s reins to one of the men.

Slowly, Arthur carried Merlin across the courtyard. People backed away without a sound, formed an alleyway around them, shoulder by shoulder, kitchen boy next to courtier, and one after the other bowed their head when their king walked past. Every step Arthur took was laboured, taking him further towards the certainty that Merlin was dead, gone permanently. He felt like he was walking within a bubble, sound coming to him through a screen of water. It took what felt like an eternity to reach the stairs.

He couldn’t remember much of his walk to Gaius’ chambers, but at some point he ended up standing in front of the doors. They opened, and a soft hand directed him inside, instructing him to lay Merlin onto the patient’s cot. Arthur obeyed mechanically.

He laid Merlin down, folded his hands over his chest, and moved his hand up to his face to close his eyelids, to make it look like he was sleeping.

For a fraction of a second, he let his fingers linger over soft cheeks.

“Sire,” said Gaius, making him jump. “Did Merlin—”

Suddenly the door was slammed open, and Gwaine stormed in, all windswept hair and fury. Before anyone could stop him he walked right up to Arthur. He threw back his arm and decked him straight in the jaw.

Arthur’s head snapped back as pain bloomed across his face.

“This is your fault!” Gwaine growled. “I watched him wither, for weeks and months, and you… you let him die!”

Arthur let the accusations wash over him. Almost as a side thought, he brought up his hand to rub at his jaw while they stared at each other, each refusing to avert their eyes, until finally Gwaine’s face crumbled. “You were his entire world.“ A sob escaped from the usually so carefree knight. “He would’ve done anything for you.”

Elyan and Percival came up to grab Gwaine’s arms, even though it did not look like he was going to throw another punch. He did not resist, but held Arthur’s gaze as he was dragged out of the room.

Gwaine had been in love with Merlin, Arthur realised. He watched him go with detached pity.

“Milord,” Leon came up to him, out of breath. “We came as fast as we could when we heard of your return. I apologise, we didn’t know Gwaine would...”

He shook his head. “Let him. He was right to say it.”

He turned around once more, unwilling to have Leon witness the grief in his eyes. “I was blind. If I had just seen earlier how he—”

“S-sire!” Gaius suddenly spoke up, a frantic tremble in his voice. “He’s… he’s breathing!”

Arthur swiveled around with the momentum of a battlemace.

It was as if time itself was holding its breath when the supposed corpse fluttered his lids, skinny fingers rubbing at sunken, dark-lined eye sockets. A weak cough escaped from those heart-shaped lips, still so deathly pale, and Arthur could not stop himself from staring, thinking he was seeing a ghost. Had his grief diven him entirely mad now?

Like a dead man rising Merlin opened his eyes and pushed himself up on a shaky elbow. He looked first at Arthur, then Gaius in puzzlement.

“Where—”

He did not get to finish his sentence, as in that moment Arthur tackled him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him into a fierce, desperate kiss.

*

Merlin had no time to react, no time to get a good look at his surroundings, thinking himself still in the forest when suddenly Arthur was on him, his lips on Merlin’s, soft and wet and entirely alive. He had no time to catch his racing thoughts.

For now, he only closed his eyes, let himself get lost in the sensation, invited Arthur’s tongue inside his mouth and met it in turn, and when Arthur’s hand let go of his shirt to more gently cradle his neck, a small moan slipped from his mouth at the touch on sensitive skin. Surely he must be dreaming, Merlin thought. Did the poison cause hallucinations? He had a vague memory of the forest earlier. When his body was wracked with hot-spiking agony, he’d thought of strong arms holding him, had imagined the voice of his king, furious like a relentless storm and at the same time sweet and caring.

If this was a hallucination, Merlin thought, it was a terrifyingly good one. Arthur let up suddenly, murmuring something. Only belatedly Merlin’s ears seemed to catch up, supplied him with the meaning of the seemingly unintelligible jumble. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Merlin shook his head. This Arthur, this worried man, looking at him as if Merlin was his world—he was too good to be true.

“I don’t want to wake up,” he whispered, feeling a sob escape from his lips.

Fondness was swimming in the blue eyes that regarded him. “You’re not asleep, idiot.”

Not bothering to hide his tears—it was a dream anyway—Merlin leaned in, their lips slotting tenderly into each other once more while fresh tears spilled from both of their eyes, crying into each other like little babies.

They could’ve stayed entwined there for eternity and Merlin would have been okay with it. He would have been okay just being held by this dream-Arthur forever.

“Sire, if I may examine him now.”

Arthur drew himself up, looking at Merlin. “Of… of course,” he said, uncharacteristically bashful, and stepped back to let the physician tread before the patient’s cot.

Merlin blushed, a sudden sheepishness overcoming him when faced with the sharp eyes of his mentor. Gaius met his gaze neutrally and proceeded with his examination, as Merlin had watched him do a hundred times. He did not move a muscle while the hands flitted over him, not trusting his body to react in the way he wanted.

At last, Gaius stood up again and ran a wrinkly hand across his forehead. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then seemed to catch himself and turned around to address the king.

“He is a bit weak from the aftereffects of the poison, but with enough rest there will be no lasting damage. He will make a full recovery.” The words came to Merlin with delay again, and he only registered half of them while his mind drifted sluggishly, aware that more people were speaking, familiar voices. Gwen? Leon? Maybe Percival? All of them here, in his dream, he thought. That was nice.

At some point, Gaius threw everyone out. “My patient needs a lot of rest. Shoo now!”, and waved the conglomeration of faces out of his chambers. They trickled through the door with mumbled apologies, until at last only Arthur remained in the room with them. “You and I are in need of a long conversation, Gaius.”

“Yes, Sire. I will come meet you as soon as I’m done here.”

A serious nod, one of those that Arthur only reserved for royal business, and the king was out of the door.

“Ar…” Merlin began to call, felt the need to raise his hand after him, but his body was proving frustratingly stubborn, limbs refusing to obey his commands and eyes growing heavy. Confused, he fell back against the pillow, feeling Gaius’ hand on his forehead again.

“Rest now, my boy,” were the last words he heard, and then Merlin was drifting, a dark warmth welcoming him into sleep.

*

That night in the royal chambers Gaius told Arthur everything, about the destiny Merlin was given what felt like the moment he walked into Camelot, the burdens he had shouldered for so long, all alone, the many dangers, the sacrifices. When Gaius’ narration arrived at the death of Arthur’s father, he jumped up in anger, ready to defend his servant. He’d been through this already; he was not going to believe Merlin responsible.

Gaius raised a hand in defense and quickly went on about Morgana’s true scheme, how Merlin had tried to help but not been aware. Arthur remembered the conversation the old physician had had with him back then. “One day you will realise,” Gaius had said, and Arthur understood that Gaius wished for Merlin to get recognition for his deeds as much as Arthur wanted to give it.

All of the choices Merlin had to make, he thought, all of the guilt he must have carried, only for Arthur. But he would ensure that Merlin would not be alone anymore. He had almost lost him, and he would do everything in his might to ensure that it would never happen again.

When the candle on Arthur’s desk burned so low that it was barely more than a puddle, Gaius stood up, announcing his need to retire. "Thank you," Arthur told him earnestly, before he dismissed the old physician, certain that Gaius would look after Merlin before he went to sleep.

When Arthur laid himself down onto his bed, a taste lingered on his lips, pliant and soft and welcoming, and he brought up his hand as if to touch the memory. Needless to say, he did not get much rest that night.

*

He avoided visiting Merlin for most of the following day.

“I think you were right,” he told Guinevere in the afternoon, again in the laundry hall. “I understand now. What you were saying, I mean.”

She sent him a smile that was not quite there. “I’m glad, Sire.” He felt like she wanted to say much more, but then her eyes closed off, as if a fog laid itself over them. She turned her back to him.

Arthur barely kept himself from grimacing. He really couldn’t stand the thought of sad women. “You know, I’m sure he will forgive you,” he said quickly. “Not that I think you did anything wrong, really… but you should, um, talk to him. I’m sure he will understand.”

Guinevere shook her head. “Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

He froze up.

She sent him a smaller smile, this one more genuine. “Go see him, Sire, I know you want to. I will talk to him after you have.”

Arthur nodded and felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. Her words were all the blessing he needed.

“Thank you, Guinevere,” he said, “with all my heart.”

“With all my heart,” he could hear her whisper when he walked out of the laundry room again, ignoring the gaping maids that had listened in on their conversation. He knew what he had to do.

*

Upon bursting into the physician’s chambers, Arthur found Gwaine already there, sitting on the side of Merlin’s bed and holding his hand in both of his own while he talked softly. When he realised that they weren’t alone anymore, he let go and turned around to scowl at Arthur. “Sire.”

Arthur ignored the less than amiable tone. He would have to deal with the mutinous knight at a later time; right now, there were more important things to consider. “Sir Gwaine.” He strode in, giving him a dismissive nod. “If you would? Merlin and I have some things to talk about. In private.” He received another scowl, but Gwaine stood up without protest, passing by Arthur’s shoulder and walking out of the room.

Merlin looked put out. “Why are you talking to Gwaine like that?” he asked, tone accusatory. Arthur sighed as he sat down next to him, and took up the spot where the knight had been previously seated.

Merlin drew back slightly, surprised at their sudden closeness. He was pale, Arthur noted, and his frame still incredibly thin.

“Gaius has put me on another few days of bedrest.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the slight pout in his voice. “And they’ll do you good,” he said, a gentle lilt in his voice.

A frown formed on Merlin’s forehead that had Arthur biting his lip. He didn’t want Merlin to think he was dismissing him again. “I’ve… thought a lot about it, these past days.”

“Thought about what?”

“Your magic.”

Merlin shrunk back into himself at the word. “Ah.”

“I talked to Gaius last night.” Arthur cleared his throat, for once quite unsure where to put his hands. He settled with placing them on his knees, resting his fingers stiffly. “He told me what you’ve done.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“I mean,” Arthur continued quickly, “not that I hadn’t been thinking about it before. But, yes, he told me the full extent of your deeds, all the times you used magic in the name of Camelot. In my name.”

“Arthur, I—”

“I’ve still not,” Arthur raised his hand, “quite forgiven you, for lying to me. But I realised a while ago that if… if you use magic, then it can’t be solely evil. Because I know you’re not.”

Merlin only continued to stare at him, lips slightly apart and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Despite being supposedly such a powerful sorcerer, Arthur thought, he appeared strangely vulnerable. He had to quell down the protective urge that rose in this throat, telling him to just take Merlin in his arms and forget everything else.

“That being said,” he went on, steeling his voice into a neutral tone. “Thank you. For everything.”

A small sniffle, and Merlin turned his head away, biting into his fist.

Arthur’s heart stuttered.

He was not able to stop himself from what followed next. Before he was aware, his arms had already shot out, drawing Merlin tightly to his chest as if that was his natural place. Merlin gave a small, startled cry, bringing up his hands in a reflex to push at Arthur’s shoulders. Then, he relaxed in Arthur’s arms, burying his head against his neck.

If Merlin’s shoulders shook slightly, and if the fabric of Arthur’s shirt was starting to grow wet around the collar, he did not remark upon it, and instead began to run his hand in soothing circles across Merlin’s back.

*

The process of legalising magic was a slow one. At first the council was not happy, many of the men having advised the throne since his father’s time. But Arthur remained steadfast in his course. He was the king now, not his father. And his word was law.

The decree went through within a fortnight of what Arthur had dubbed in his mind as the ‘incident’, and although the people were wary, they seemed to trust their young sovereign to guide them the way he thought best. There was no outbreak of violence and anarchy as the noblemen had feared would happen.

Even Gwaine came around at one point, after a few days of overindulgence in the tavern. (Arthur was willing to let it go this once.) “Be good to him,” he told Arthur, and Arthur wanted to bristle at the knight thinking he needed his permission. But he fought down the sour taste of jealousy. Gwaine was conceding the field to him, he understood, and part of him was glad that there was someone else watching out for Merlin.

All in all, Camelot remained at peace, almost as if a heavy, oppressive blanket had been lifted off her.

Merlin was not back on duty yet, had been prescribed another few weeks of rest under the watchful gaze of Gaius, who made sure to occupy him with a plethora of simple, repetitive tasks. (More for the health of his mind than that of his body, Arthur supposed, although the physician did not specify either way. They were all anxious to keep Merlin’s thoughts from drifting again.)

Naturally, Merlin did not do as he was told. He became finicky, started puttering around the chambers, and within the week, in lieu of having something interesting to do, he was back at following the knights around like a lost duckling. He seemed hesitant to come across Arthur, and did not seek out interaction unless Arthur was the one to initiate it.

They danced around any talk of the kiss whenever the conversation seemed to steer in that direction.

“You know, Gaius said it would be a good idea to appoint a court sorcerer, now that magic’s allowed in Camelot again,” Arthur said casually one afternoon, passing by to see Merlin after he’d kicked Gwaine’s arse on the training field, probably with a bit more vigour than was necessary. (Contrary to what that randy mug believed, Arthur’s sword moves were _not_ more flashy when Merlin was watching.)

“I’ve half a mind to give you the position, if only because the hat that comes with it would suit you perfectly.” He stretched his arms behind his back, watching Merlin, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“You would trust me?” asked Merlin, flabbergasted.

Arthur’s lips pulled downward. “Of course I trust you! Haven’t we established that I do in the past few days?” The first quivers of anger started to curl in his stomach, and Arthur bit his tongue to keep from yelling. Who did Merlin think he had done it for? To legalise magic?

Merlin only stared at him, unmoving, his eyes heavy with something that appeared almost like guilt. Arthur immediately felt bad for his harsh tone, and his fingers itched again, longing to draw those skinny shoulders into another comforting embrace. How long had it been since he’d last seen Merlin’s smile? (Yes, so what if he _might_ have been counting?)

“You really shouldn’t,” Merlin murmured finally, turning around and walking back towards the castle.

Arthur watched him go in confusion, wondering where he had gone wrong. That was, until he realised all of the rest of the knights had paused in their training, their gazes resting on him and Merlin’s disappearing form. He scowled, turning back towards them. “Who told you to stop doing your routines?” The knights shrunk down from his gaze, clearly recognising when their king was not in a good mood.

Arthur worked them until they collapsed at sundown in exhaustion. It did not help the restless feeling that thrummed only inches beneath his skin.

*

Everything came together during the banquet that evening, a small feast for the court in honour of reinstating magic in Camelot. Arthur had insisted that Merlin attend him for the night, wanting him there to see how people were taking the adaption of magic into the kingdom. Gaius had allowed it, conceding that it was probably a good idea to have Merlin socialise for a bit. Although Merlin tried to act affronted, apparently intent on avoiding Arthur after their earlier conversation, the relief on his face at finally being able to escape the physician’s clutches was palpable.

“Look at them,” Arthur grumbled towards Merlin, pointing at some of the elderly courtiers while he held out his cup to be refilled, “already acting like it was their idea to lift the ban, now that it’s going well. None of them a honest bone in his body.”

Instead of replying, Merlin bent forward to pour more wine in his cup.

Arthur shook his head. He could already feel the pleasant buzz of the alcohol. Maybe it would make him brave enough to say what he needed to.

“Men like you, they’re rare,” he continued, when it didn’t look like Merlin was going to dignify him with an answer. He waved his hand emphatically. “Trustworthy, loyal. I don’t think I tell you often enough how much I appreciate you.”

There were a few moments of silence. “I-I don’t think you’re right about that. Sire,” Merlin murmured and withdrew into the shadows again. His hands had a slight tremor. “There are many trustworthy men who serve you.”

“None of them is like you.”

A small, exhausted breath fluttered from Merlin’s lips. Arthur could not tear his gaze away. Had they always looked so plump and red and-and biteable?

He shook his head quickly, looking around and trying to find a distraction from his quickly derailing thoughts. There was time for that later, he hoped, if only Merlin… At the other end of the hall he made eye contact with Guinevere, who was currently serving the knights, listening to one of Gwaine’s bawdy tales with an indulgent smile. When she saw Arthur, she gave him a slight nod and a questioning gaze.

Arthur did not need to hear what she wanted to ask. She wanted to know if he’d told Merlin of his feelings yet. He shook his head, and she made a small ‘shoo’ motion, seemingly wanting to encourage him.

Arthur huffed.

“Are you and Guinevere going to have the wedding soon?” Merlin asked, so suddenly that Arthur choked on his wine, almost spitting it all over the table.

“What?” He croaked in between coughing fits. “Gui-guinevere? How did you get that idea?”

Merlin knit his brows together in confusion. “You both are in love, and…” He drew back slightly. “Are you under a spell again?”

“No!” Arthur snapped, apparently a bit more loudly than he had intended. Suddenly, the hall went silent, and everyone’s attention shifted to their king. Arthur cursed under his breath and stood up from his chair.

“I will retire for the night. Merlin, attend me.” He turned around, ignoring the dozens of gazes at his back both from his servant and the courtiers.

Eventually, the conversation picked up again, and Arthur heard Merlin’s quiet steps following after him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Arthur ignored him in favor of taking up a brisk pace towards his chambers.

*

As soon as Merlin had followed him inside the room, Arthur turned around to slam him against the door. Merlin had only time for a startled “Mmmph!” before Arthur captured his lips, drawing his hand into the dark tufts of Merlin’s head and tilting it backwards.

Merlin moaned into the kiss. Gods, Arthur thought, he had needed this, had needed Merlin’s touch and his velveteen lips like the sun needed the sky, like the sea needed the earth to roll against. Prying the soft buds open with his tongue, Arthur plundered Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin gave freely, opened up for him with readiness, as always so devoted to his king.

Arthur grunted, felt his cock grow heavy inside his breeches.

Suddenly, Merlin’s eyes widened and he started struggling, tearing his face away and trying to unwind himself from Arthur’s grasp. “W-what are you doing?”

Arthur pursed his lips, annoyed at the unnecessary interruption. “I’m kissing you, dollophead.” He gave a gentle flick between Merlin’s eyebrows. “Did your mother never tell you what happens when two people like each other? Because with all due respect, I am not ready to have that conversation with you.“

Merlin sputtered, ears growing a rather pretty shade of pink. “No! Well, yes, I-I mean—I know what kissing is!”

Arthur looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Then why are you stopping?”

“Because I’d like to know why in all hells you’re kissing me!”

Arthur blinked.

“Because I’m in love with you. I thought that was obvious.”

Merlin stared at him rather horrified. Then, he let his head fall back. “Oh, I should have known.” Heaving a deep sigh, he turned around to reach for the door handle. “Alright. Let’s get you to Gaius before you do something you’ll regre—”

Arthur slammed his hand against the door, directly in front of Merlin’s face. “I am not,” he growled, “enchanted.”

“But you—”

“Ah,” Arthur held up his other hand. “If you won’t let me do anything else, you’ll at least listen to me now, you idiot. I am in love with you and have been for years, but I was too blind to realise it until _Guinevere_ of all people pointed it out. And then I almost lost you, and… and…” He trailed off, letting his head fall onto Merlin’s shoulder.

“When I held you in my arms, thinking that you were dying, the only thing I could think about was that I would never have a chance to tell you. So please…” He brought his hands to Merlin’s cheeks, thumbs brushing gently over pale cheekbones.

“Let me tell you how much you mean to me.”

Merlin’s eyes were shining suspiciously. “Arthur,” he whispered, “I-I can’t. There’s so much that you don’t know about me. About what I’ve done. I can’t let you love me when this lies between us. It would be a lie.”

Arthur met his gaze firmly. “Then tell me.”

“You’ll hate me.”

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat at the thought of Merlin expecting rejection so readily. He would make it his mission to train him out of it. “Nothing,” he assured. “Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you.”

“You did after you found out about the magic,” Merlin said.

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “I never hated you. I was angry, and I was confused, and I felt betrayed by you lying to me. I feared that you had...” He bit his lip slightly at the uncomfortable admission. “I’d feared that you had never really been my friend.”

Wide blue eyes looked back at him.

He sighed. “I already told you I’m sorry. I have many regrets of those days, not in the least because you needed me and I was not there.” Tenderly, he stroked Merlin’s cheek, hoping the gesture would convey all the words he struggled to express. “Will you be able to forgive me?”

Merlin smiled slightly, bringing his hand up to cover Arthur’s. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Then tell me. Tell me what you fear will make me hate you. I… I need you to trust me, Merlin.”

A spark of acceptance lit up in Merlin’s eyes, and finally, he told him.

*

Merlin started with Morgana, how he’d known she had magic but had left her alone with it, too scared of a distant prophecy and the consequences it might bring. He talked about the curse of sleep Morgause had laid upon Camelot and how he was forced to poison Morgana to save everyone, his voice full of loathing at his own actions, his face wrought with guilt even at just recounting the events. Arthur wanted to draw him into his arms, encase him tightly and never let go again. He could feel his heart shattering quietly bit by bit with every difficult choice Merlin had been forced to make. (And every time he had chosen Camelot. Chosen him.)

But Merlin was not yet finished. He went on about the freeing of the dragon, how it had lead to his own father’s death—Arthur was shaken when he remembered telling Merlin not to cry for the man. If only he’d known. Merlin took no note of his inner turmoil, went on to name every death he blamed himself for, Lancelot, Arthur’s father, at which he paused slightly, as if afraid of Arthur’s reaction, but Arthur only shook his head. “Gaius told me about Morgana’s interference,” he said, “it was not your fault.”

Merlin bit his lip and continued without further comment on it. He talked about Guinevere and Lancelot’s betrayal, how it too was another one of Morgana’s schemes. “She would never be disloyal to you, Sire,” he insisted softly, as if it could somehow convince Arthur to give his romance with Guinevere another try.

“I know,” Arthur said. “I knew even before I found out about the magic. But I don’t regret what happened. It led me to you.”

He received a slight smile at that, which did not remain for long as Merlin’s narration reached Morgana’s invasion. He told Arthur about sending down the dragon to burn every man of the Southron army, how he had faced Agravaine in that cave, had known even before anyone had said anything that he would have to kill Arthur’s traitorous uncle.

Then he paused again for a moment, swallowing heavily, and his eyes were bleeding regret so strongly that Arthur’s breath caught.

“It was the only time I ever put you under a spell,” Merlin said. “To ensure you would live, that you would agree to flee to safety with me.”

“You took away my will,” Arthur murmured, speaking the words out loud to make them feel more real. His ears were ringing as the memories came back—oh _gods_ , he remembered how light-headed and far away he had felt, floating, comfortable, even while his mind had been screaming at him that something was very wrong.

He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of the confession. It was the furthest from anything he could have possibly imagined, but thinking about it, it fit well with the motivations that seemed to drive Merlin.

The warlock in question said nothing, only nodded, and kept Arthur’s gaze in fearful expectation. He was waiting for a verdict.

Arthur’s face was frozen, as if cast from stone. “If you ever do it again, I will not forgive you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“As I said, I need you to trust me, both with your magic and your life, and I need you to trust that I will make the right decisions, just like I do you. Gaius said you were given a destiny by the dragon, a destiny to protect me.”

Merlin nodded, looking like he wanted to say so much more, and Arthur could only imagine. He knew now that Merlin did not do it because of any kind of destiny, well, not solely for that reason. “The dragon said we were two sides of the same coin,” he said. “So if you are meant to protect me, then I am meant to protect you too. Do you think you can do it? Trust me?”

“Y-yes,” Merlin croaked, “I… I do trust you. More than anyone. I just—”

“Hush now,” Arthur interrupted his broken rambles, leaning in again to ghost his mouth over Merlin’s. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I promise.”

Merlin sniffled softly, the sound almost swallowed up by Arthur’s lips as he crowded him against the wall again, pouring all of the feelings he was unable to voice into the kiss, all of the longing, all of the ache that made his body heavy when Merlin was away. He would make Merlin forget, if only for a little while, to make him feel loved and cherished and warm like he deserved. Not because he owed Merlin, but because he wanted to. And he hoped Merlin would get that in that silly little head of his.

*

Arthur laid with Merlin that night, pushed him down onto the soft sheets of his bed and pulled down his pants to stroke at his pretty cock, already half hard from only the lightest of touches, all ready for Arthur. Arthur took his time with Merlin, though, ground down in slow rolls of his hips pushing their lengths together, swallowing all the needy little moans before they could leave Merlin’s lips.

He stroked Merlin to orgasm two times before they collapsed into the sheets, arm in arm. Merlin burrowed his head in Arthur’s shoulders, whispering an almost inaudible “thank you.”

Arthur grinned. “Who knew my expert hands would finally be the ones to teach you manners, _Mer_ lin.”

A small huff. “What would you know of manners.”

“Well, I have enough manners at least to ask my manservant permission to formally court him.”

Merlin knit his brows. “But you didn’t ask me—oh.”

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Arthur said, turning around so he was facing Merlin once more, half leaning over him. “So what do you say?”

“I-I don’t know.” Merlin shook his head, fretting. “You think that’s a good idea? There is still your kingdom, and the matter of an heir, and what will your advisors say? You can’t possibly plan to—ummph!” Arthur shut him up with a kiss before he could say anything more.

“I can, and I will, that is, if you will allow me. Nothing else matters.”

Merlin averted his gaze. He was silent for a very long few moments. “I don’t know if it will be a good idea for us to become too close.”

“What?” When Arthur realised Merlin was serious, he extracted himself from their embrace, sitting up more straight. ”Why?”

“I…” Merlin closed his eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I thought we were done with the secrets.”

The hurt must’ve been more evident in his voice than he had intended, because Merlin’s brows knit with guilt again. Arthur clenched his jaw and reached out with his hand to encase Merlin’s, drawing it to his chest right above his heart.

They stayed like that for some time, until Merlin let his head fall back and heaved a defeated sigh.

“I can’t die.”

Arthur blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

A pained look flit across Merlin’s gaze. “It’s true. Every time I do, I just wake up again a while later. Believe me, I’ve tried more times than you want to know. It was how I came back after the poison.”

“So... you actually died in my arms there?” Arthur asked, horrified at the implication, the thought that Merlin had killed himself not one, but several times.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned for anyone to see.”

“Bullshit!” He slammed his hands onto the pillow, making Merlin jump slightly. “I’m glad I found you. Oh gods, only thinking about what if I never had and you would’ve continued with this… You have to promise me never to try again, Merlin. What if one day your time will be up and it actually works—”

“It won’t work,” Merlin said with a startling vehemence. “Not now, not ever. I don’t know who thought of this sick joke, to have me remain on this world forever, or if there’s some kind of job they intended me to do before I’m allowed to leave. But I… but I…”

He looked so lost, so small beneath Arthur, his eyes an endless sea of stars.

Arthur finally understood. “Alright, that’s easy then,” he said. “If you can’t die, then I will stay with you for as long as you’re here. I won’t die either.”

Merlin looked at him flabbergasted. “You can’t just decide not to die!”

“Oh, can’t I?” he smirked. “After all, I do have the most powerful sorcerer who ever walked the earth on my side. Death won’t even dare to look at me.”

A slight, fond smile played on Merlin’s lips. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know,” Arthur said, more seriously, and reached out to draw his warlock into his arms again. “But we will figure something out. Together. Alright?”

“Alright,” Merlin conceded, closing his eyes as he nestled his head against Arthur’s chest. A warm feeling pooled in Arthur’s belly. For the first time in a long while, he felt that his world was right, small and contained there in his chambers, resting in his and Merlin’s entwined arms. He knew that Merlin was not healed yet, would probably need a long time and much care to be able to free himself from the darkness in his thoughts, from the guilt and self-blame. It was going to be a long journey, but Arthur did not intend to leave his side for a single step. Just as Merlin would never leave his.

Yes. They were not there yet, but they were on the way. In time, Arthur told himself, Merlin was going to be alright. And with that last thought, he let his eyes fall close and finally allowed himself to fall into a much needed, restful sleep.


End file.
